this is a poem about the
(Water Service has been scheduled for disconnection)
i found taped to my door this morning
and about the existential crises
about how i stepped outside naked except for a bath towel
and took it down before
the neighbors saw and thought
i’m the kind of person who doesn’t pay his water bill
(though clearly, i am.)
i blame it on a mixup with the landlord, though
i honest-to-god don’t know who owns the
house i call home.
i called carrington in california and they said
it’s owned by a capital firm in north carolina but
managed by an acronym in wisconsin where
kay told me to call fred and
fred told me to call karen and
karen’s phone went straight to voicemail.
(i wish this was a joke.
i called the city where i live and begged them to
take my money
(for the water bill)
but also, for a brief but very serious moment,
i contemplated moving out and living
somewhere, anywhere else
because how can i expect a house to feel like home
when nobody even knows who owns it?
or who’s supposed to pay the water bill?
This is part of my experiment in writing whatever the hell I feel like it on my blog so as to Make Blogging Fun Again.
published August 25, 2016
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